^prw^"-™^^™-  — ^^™ 

953  _______ 

U  7  9       THE  VOICE 
V       N  THE  SILENCE 


UC-NRLF 


252    Slfl 


TWOMAS  S.  JONES,  JR 


I 


:-' 


BOOKS  BY   MR.   JONES 


The  Voice  in  the  Silence 
The  Rose- Jar 

Interludes 

From  Quiet  Valleys 

The  Path  o'  Dreams 

(with  Clinton  Scollard) 

From  the  Heart  of  the  Hills 


THE  VOICE  IN  THE 
SILENCE  BY  THOMAS 
S.  JONES,  JR. 


PORTLAND    MAINE 

THE     MOSHER     PRESS 

MDCCCCXV 


COPYRIGHT 
THOMAS   S.   JONES,   JR. 

1911   :  1915 


FIRST   EDITION,  DECEMBER, 

SECOND   EDITION,  JANUARY,    1913 

THIRD   EDITION,  APRIL,    1915 


TO 
KATHERINE  OSBORNE 


312544 


The  one  whole  song  of  this  true  poet  touches  the 
imagination  in  a  way  which  may  be  best,  yet  far  from 
perfectly,  described  by  likening  its  effect  to  that  of  a 
single  episode  in  a  masterwork  of  a  closely  allied  art  — 
to  a  certain  scene  in  Tannhauser.  The  curtain  rises 
on  the  stage,  disclosing  the  edge  of  a  beautiful  forest. 
In  full  view  is  a  solitary  high  rock  around  the  base  of 
which  winds  an  ancient  road  —  the  road  of  human 
feet.  On  the  rock  sits  a  youthful  shepherd  and  in  the 
shepherd's  hands  is  the  pipe  of  his  sylvan  solacing  art. 
Amid  the  forest's  beauty,  stillness,  loneliness,  first  he 
sings  —  self -attentive  to  his  wistful  joy.  Then  he 
places  the  pipe  to  his  uncompanioned  lips  and  blows 
his  song  out  upon  the  bright  atmosphere  —  still  retain- 
ing for  himself  the  gayety  of  a  consecrated  surrender 
to  its  plaintive  note.  Soon  he  is  disturbed  and  silenced 
by  another  sound  —  the  slow  heavily  burdened  chorus 
of  a  band  of  coming  pilgrims.  Their  variously  com- 
mingled voices  draw  nearer,  grow  louder.  The  sandaled 
wayfarers  of  the  soul  appear.  They  advance.  Their 
chant  rises  with  fullest  volume  as  they  surge  round 
the  rock.  They  pass  on;  they  are  seen  no  more;  for 
a  while  their  song  lingers  down  the  leafy  glades  ;  then 
it  too  dies  out  in  the  distance.  Again  is  the  unchanged 


stillness  of  the  forest,  the  unchanged  loneliness  of  the 
road  save  for  fresh  imprints  of  care-worn  feet.  And 
yet  once  more  the  youthful  shepherd  will  take  up  his 
pipe  and  blow  upon  the  air  his  uninterrupted  song. 
He  will  neither  forget  it  nor  will  he  change  it.  He 
will  borrow  for  it  no  note  from  any  particular  band  of 
pilgrims  afterwards  arriving,  because  it  is  his  finished 
song  of  them  before  they  arrive.  It  heralds  their 
approach  before  they  are  heard;  it  continues  their 
presence  after  they  are  gone.  It  is  the  one  song  of 
his  life  about  all  pilgrim  bands  who  pass  his  way  — 
along  the  same  human  road  —  around  his  woodland 
rock :  the  rock  overlooking  the  road,  the  song  blend- 
ing the  sounds  of  the  road  and  the  forest.  Thus  this 
poet's  song :  native  to  the  woods  from  which  it  never 
wanders;  intent  upon  a  theme  which  it  never  relin- 
quishes—  the  forest  and  the  pilgrims.  And  thus  while 
his  pipe  has  no  rift  in  it,  his  song  has  one  —  the  never 
to  be  mende,d  rift  between  nature  and  humanity. 

JAMES  LANE  ALLEN 


Thanks  are  due  the  Editors  of  Harper's 
Magazine,  Scribner's  Magazine,  The  Book 
News  Monthly,  The  Pathfinder,  The  'Deline- 
ator, The  Smart  Set,  The  International,  The 
Lyric  Year,  The  Boston  Transcript,  The 
New  York  Sun,  and  the  other  publications 
in  which  the  poems  of  this  collection 
originally  appeared,  for  their  kind  per- 
mission to  reprint. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

TO  SONG     .        •'.  v  **vr      .        «C/>-W.  3  3 

IN   EXCELSIS      -.          .          .          .--      .  4 

INTIMATIONS    .        •.          3JHTA  V-jJJ  6 

A  DEBT     •.        •.          .        -Y         .      >M  ^  7 

OF  ONE  WHO  WALKS  ALONE       ™.  a  8 

IN   MEMORY      < .       - .        •  T*  ; }  v*    Ll.° "  9 

THE  GUARDIAN   ANGEL            .       ;V  10 

A  SYMPHONY     .        •.          .          .      *  P  11 

THE  PINES         '.      a:<^::   «"'"'?*  0£  :  HT  12 

AS  THROUGH  A  GLASS    ...  13 

BEYOND       .                    .          .          .          .  14 

THE  WAY  BACK      '  f  *'  Til  '  "  f '"  ;   f  15 

THE  QUIET  VALLEY          .          .          /  16 
ON  A  FLY-LEAF    OF   UTHE    CHOIR 

INVISIBLE"            .*'      .      -a^li:    /  18 

URBS  BEATA       .          .          .          .         V  19 

TO  ROSAMUND  MARRIOTT  WATSON  20 
ENDYMION           .                              .          .21 

AT  THE  WHITE  GATE     .          .          .  22 
EMBER-GLOW     .          .          .          .          .23 

THE  SILENCES    .  24 


XI 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

LILAC-TIME        <          ..         .          .          .  26 

THE  WAYS  OF  SPRING     .        ..  ;  ftfcf  27 

EBB-TIDE    .          .        ..          .        -VH:^  28 

STILL-WATERS          , .        ."  *  1 1*  Ht  <\  **  29 

THE  MOORS       t;        ...          .          .  30 

THE  ROAD       >JA    #^w,WiHW   3H<  31 

CANDLE-LIGHT         ..        ;;      'fga&lil  32 

FORGOTTEN        ,»Jj      .        ^/ j  ^  „       »  33 

WIDE  PASTURES        ^  v        .  |  -  .  ; ;  ^^t  35 

AT  THE  ROAD'S  END        .          .  »     r*  36 

SAPPHICS 

TO   A  GREEK  STATUE     *,      :  »      ,^  43 

ONLY             .V       ^4     rii      *^M  Mt  44 

AT  THE  WINDS'   CALL  ^       f  .      ?".  45 

TO   A    HILL-TOWN     .          ^Hf^iyMi  46 

ELEGY          .          .          .          .          *7      •  47 

THE   GIFTS  OF   PEACE  48 


Xll 


THE  VOICE  IN  THE  SILENCE 


TO  SONG 

t  ERE  shall  remain  all  tears  for  lovely  things 
And  here  enshrined  the  longing  of  great  hearts, 
Caughtonalyre  whence  waking  wonder  starts, 
To  mount  afar  upon  immortal  wings ; 
Here  shall  be  treasured  tender  wonderings, 
The  faintest  whisper  that  the  soul  imparts, 
All  silent  secrets  and  all  gracious  arts 
Where  nature  murmurs  of  her  hidden  springs. 

O  magic  of  a  song !  here  loveliness 

May  sleep  unhindered  of  life's  mortal  toll, 

And  noble  things  stand  towering  o'er  the  tide ; 
Here  mid  the  years,  untouched  by  time  or  stress, 
Shall  sweep  on  every  wind  that  stirs  the  soul 
The  music  of  a  voice  that  never  died  ! 


IN  EXCELSIS 

CPRING! 

^     And  all  our  valleys  turning  into  green, 

Remembering  — 

As  I  remember !  So  my  heart  turns  glad 

For  so  much  youth  and  joy  —  this  to  have  had 

When  in  my  veins  the  tide  of  living  fire 

Was  at  its  flow ; 

This  to  know, 

When  now  the  miracle  of  young  desire 

Burns  on  the  hills,  and  spring's  sweet  choristers  again 

Chant  from  each  tree  and  every  bush  aflame 

Love's  wondrous  name ; 

This  under  youth's  glad  reign, 

With  all  the  valleys  turning  into  green  — 

This  to  have  heard  and  seen ! 

And  Song ! 

Once  to  have  known  what  every  wakened  bird 

Has  heard  ; 

Once  to  have  entered  into  that  great  harmony 

Of  love's  creation,  and  to  feel 

The  pulsing  waves  of  wonder  steal 

Through  all  my  being ;  once  to  be 

In  that  same  sea 

Of  wakened  joy  that  stirs  in  every  tree 


And  every  bird ;  and  then  to  sing  — 

To  sing  aloud  the  endless  Song  of  Spring  ! 

Waiting,  I  turn  to  Thee, 

Expectant,  humble,  and  on  bended  knee ; 

Youth's  radiant  fire 

Only  to  burn  at  Thy  unknown  desire  — 

For  this  alone  has  Song  been  granted  me. 

Upon  Thy  altar  burn  me  at  Thy  will ; 

All  wonders  fill 

My  cup,  and  it  is  Thine ; 

Life's  precious  wine 

For  this  alone  :  for  Thee. 

Yet  never  can  be  paid 

The  debt  long,  laid 

Upon  my  heart,  because  my  lips  did  press 

In  youth's  glad  Spring  the  Cup  of  Loveliness  ! 


INTIMATIONS 

O  O  life  goes  by,  yet  leaves  this  starry  gold : 
^     All  things  that  once  were  wonderful  and  true, 
Kin  to  the  best  and  what  may  not  grow  old, 
Sifted  of  dust,  disclosed  forever  new. 

Thus  in  the  waste  of  swiftly  passing  years 

These  wondrous  things  are  proof  of  what  may  be, 

For  even  now  beyond  the  gate  of  tears 
They  stand  revealed  in  immortality. 


A  DEBT 

F^IME  has  been  prodigal  of  fairy-gold 
-*•        Which  I  have  hoarded  tenderly  away, 
Mayhap  to  squander  in  that  later  day 

When  Winter  has  come  on  and  I  am  old  ; 

But  now  the  Spring  has  marvels  manifold, 
And  youth  still  trembles  in  its  sunlit  sway, 
So  do  I  wonder  how  I  shall  repay 

A  debt  for  all  the  joy  one  heart  can  hold. 

I  wonder,  and  the  answer  comes  full  clear : 
To  keep  a  heart  in  joy,  to  sing  again 

When  Winter  has  come  on  and  life  is  bare ; 
For  you  do  know  the  Spring  is  ever  near, 
And  haply  to  some  lonely  soul  in  pain 
You  may  pay  back  in  largess  unaware. 


OF  ONE  WHO  WALKS  ALONE 

P^HESE  are  the  ways  of  one  who  walks  alone, 
-*•      Sweet  silent  ways  that  lead  toward  twilight  skies, 
Bees  softly  winging  where  a  low  wind  sighs 
Through  the  hills'  hollow,  cool  and  clover-blown. 

These  are  the  ways  that  call  one  back  again 
To  old  forgotten  things  in  faded  years, 
Swift  on  a  moment  of  remembered  tears 

They  stand  from  out  the  dust  where  they  have  lain. 

These  are  the  ways  life's  simple  secrets  bless, 

Keen  homely  scents  borne  by  each  haunted  wind, — 
Here  in  the  silence  one  may  ever  find 

That  last  strange  peace  whose  name  is  loneliness. 


IN  MEMORY 

F^HERE  is  one  cloistered  place  that  still  would  keep 
-*•        A  single  dream  should  all  the  others  go, 
For  ever  it  is  just  the  same  as  though 
It  rested  in  God's  loving  hand  asleep. 

Its  hills  are  steadfast  and  its  trees  are  true, 
And  all  its  winds  are  like  the  winds  of  June ; 
And  life  is  never  old  nor  out  of  tune, 

And  youth  is  golden  as  the  skies  are  blue. 

O  quiet  vale  asleep  beneath  God's  smile  ! 
I  ever  need  you  for  the  ways  are  far, 
And  through  all  things  I  seem  to  know  you  are 

A  little  vision  of  the  after-while. 


THE  GUARDIAN  ANGEL 

OOMETIMES  a  waking  dream  my  life  will  be 

^     Too  wonderful  for  words  or  any  song, 
As  if  the  moment  time  had  burst  its  thong 

And  passed  the  verge  of  immortality ; 

Sometimes  the  fates  do  spin  so  lavishly 

A  web  of  rarest  joy  with  threads  so  strong, 
That  then  I  know  grief  cannot  last  for  long 

Since  endless  beauty  is  unveiled  to  me. 

What  though  one  stand  without  the  gates  of  gold, 
Seeing  beyond,  time  is  a  little  thing, 

And  in  the  silence  all  things  may  abide ; 
For  Memory  her  mighty  wings  will  fold 
About  each  dream  with  gentle  winnowing, 
And  they  are  safe  .  .  .  and  I  am  satisfied. 


10 


A  SYMPHONY 

TO-DAY,  a  symphony  ! 
An  ecstasy  of  sound,  a  rushing  sea 
Of  tonal  wonder  through  the  trees  ! 
Truly  are  these 
The  flutes  ^Eolian, 
And  Pan 
The  piper  of  lost  melodies  ! 

Winds  all  day  long, 

Sweeping  the  branches  on  a  thousand  strings 

Of  myriad  notes ;  and  tremulous,  the  song 

Of  birds  in  haunting  harmony  !  — 

Floods  of  full  sound,  piercing  and  strong, 

Yet  laden  with  a  tenderness  that  sings 

Into  the  soul, — an  undertone 

Poignant  as  memory : 

A  sweetness  blown 

Across  discordant  years, 

Caught  from  the  rhythm  of  the  chanting  spheres  ! 

It  must  be  Pan,  indeed ! 

For  now  the  dusk  unveils  the  evening-star, 

And  as  a  dream 

The  winds  blend  into  one  exquisite  theme,  — 

Then  faint  afar 

Like  the  low  piping  of  a  shepherd's  reed. 


11 


THE  PINES 

TN  lofty  galleries  of  greenery 

•**     They  rise  and  meet  the  azure  of  the  sky, 
A  pillared  nave  whose  arches  frail  and  high 

Breathe  with  an  organ's  solemn  melody  : 

Now  like  the  minor  surging  of  the  sea 

Or  low  and  faint  as  wings  that  startle  by  — 
As  sweet-tuned  winds  that  quaveringly  sigh 

Adown  dim  aisles  of  cloistered  pageantry. 

While  through  the  stretches  of  this  lovely  fane 
The  swaying  censers  shed  a  drowsy  smell 

Heavy  with  some  rare  fragrance  from  afar, 
Upon  the  pavement  falls  the  sunset  stain, 

The  dusk  creeps  on  ...  softly  a  twilight  bell 
And  now,  the  altar-candle  of  a  star ! 


12 


AS  THROUGH  A  GLASS 

A    SOFT  thin  haze  of  misty  golden-green 
•*  ^     Lies  on  the  valley,  tenuous  and  frail, 
Touches  the  far  hills  with  its  sunlit  sheen, 
And  folds  the  distance  in  a  filmy  veil. 

Is  there  naught  else  drifted  between  our  eyes 
And  endless  beauty  that  can  never  pale?  — 

Are  these  but  vistas  of  some  paradise 

Seen  through  the  meshes  of  a  golden  veil ! 


13 


BEYOND 

T  WONDER  if  the  tides  of  Spring 
-*•     Will  always  bring  me  back  again 
Mute  rapture  at  the  simple  thing 
Of  lilacs  blowing  in  the  rain. 

If  so,  my  heart  will  ever  be 

Above  all  fear,  for  I  shall  know 

There  is  a  greater  mystery 

Beyond  the  time  when  lilacs  blow. 


14 


THE  WAY  BACK 

NO  more  the  road  shall  turn, 
And  sudden  through  the  trees,  the  hills, 
The  gleam  of  water,  and  the  winding  road. 
Never  at  sunset,  the  low  lying  clouds, 
The  scent  of  all  the  loveliness  of  Spring, 
And  then  the  moon  and  silence  and  your  hand. 

But  I  shall  ever  turn 

Back  on  that  road 

In  memory,  and  stand 

With  you  at  sunset,  while  the  clouds 

Lie  golden  on  those  well-loved  hills  .  .  . 

So  shall  I  ever  come  to  you  and  Spring. 


15 


THE  QUIET  VALLEY 


T  TERR  only  dreams  will  come  the  live-long  day, 
-••  •*•     Dreams  left  behind,  but  here  fulfilled  at  last ; 
For  in  this  haven  time  is  put  away, 

And,  like  the  clouds,  the  freighted  hours  drift  past. 

Far,  far  away  within  the  guarding  hills 
The  changing  beauty  every  moment  fills, 
Here,  in  the  shelter,  is  the  sweet  release 
Where  life  drains  deeply  from  the  cup  of  peace. 


16 


II 


'  I  VHE  west  is  liquid  in  the  tawny  light, 
•*•        The  hills  are  billows  of  a  purple  sea, 

Low  in  the  east  the  shadows  of  the  night 
Creep  up  the  sky  in  waves  of  mystery. 

And  now  above  the  fading  after-glow 
The  little  moon  hangs  like  a  silver  bow, 
Till  it  too  sinks  behind  the  purple-bar, 
Leaving  the  silence  to  the  evening-star. 


17 


ON  A  FLY-LEAF  OF  UTHE  CHOIR  INVISIBLE" 
fail  7  TO  J.  L.  A. 

Tf  OREVER  burns  the  glory  of  the  Grail, 

•*•       And  still  across  the  years  its  crimson  stain 
Shadows  the  heart  of  him  who  seeks  in  vain 

A  perfect  service  that  may  never  fail ; 

And  lest  the  sacred  radiance  should  pale 
It  still  is  served  by  the  unending  train 
"  Of  those  immortal  dead  who  live  again" 

And  lend  new  wonder  to  a  time-sweet  tale. 

So  here  anew  is  one  who  saw  the  gleam, 
And  followed  blindly  on  the  valiant  quest, 

Whose  windings  may  seem  ofttimes  dark  and  sad ; 
Yet  to  our  eyes  he  shows  a  clearer  Dream, 
And  in  his  knighthood  of  divine  unrest 
Bears  on  his  arm  the  shield  of  Galahad  ! 


18 


URBS  BEATA 

it  not  be  that  we  at  last  shall  win 
That  Place  long  sought  whose  towers  we  bo.th 

have  seen  ? 

Can  we  forget,  who  oft  so  near  have  been 
That  ever  music  sounds  above  life's  din  ? 
For  now  there  beats  a  melody  within 

Each  moment,  and  white  visions  intervene 
Where  earth's  dull  clouds  unfurl  their  misty  screen, 
And  where  the  paths  are  dark  and  choked  with  sin. 

It  lies  so  near  that  often  in  the  dawn, 

Or  when  the  stars  first  show  their  silver  fire, 

We  seem  on  old  lost  ways  we  once  have  trod  : 
Upon  the  grass  a  Light  no  more  withdrawn, 
Upon  the  wind  a  Song  time  cannot  tire, 
And  in  our  hearts  the  very  Voice  of  God. 


19 


TO  ROSAMUND  MARRIOTT  WATSON 

DIED   DECEMBER,    1911 

\\  7lDE  scattered  rose-leaves  on  a  dewy  lawn, 
The  call  of  birds,  the  hush  of  gentle  rain, 
Low  airs  that  whisper  at  the  verge  of  dawn, 
Music  and  twilight  and  the  shadows'  stain. 

These  fill  your  song,  apart  from  noise  and  stress, 
Sweet  with  the  murmur  of  faint  winds  afar, 

Steadfast  in  peace  and  nature's  quietness, 
Laden  with  beauty  as  frail  roses  are. 


20 


ENDYMION 

NO  elder  hour  may  speak  to  you  and  me 
While  this  sweet  moment  breathes  oblivion, 
For  even  now  the  west  enfolds  the  sun 
And  all  the  valleys  are  a  flaming  sea  ... 
A  distant  flash  of  wings  unfurled  and  free 

Toward  one  lone  star  where  clouds  their  ravels  run, 
An4  through  the  drifting  veil  in  silver  spun 
The  summer  moon's  white  face  of  mystery. 

But  with  the  moon,  old  dreams  and  old-world  pain, 
Borne  on  the  winds  of  memory  and  time 

That  sweep  away  the  fading  twilight  spell ; 
And  in  the  pale  glow  something  back  again, 

Something  to  wake  the  blood's  swift  pulsing  rhyme,  - 
Immortal  Youth  amid  the  asphodel ! 


21 


AT  THE  WHITE  GATE 
TO  THE  MEMORY  OF   MICHAEL  FAIRLESS 

is  not  far,  the  life  of  adoration, 
For  all  about  its  many  symbols  lie  : 
Each  dawn  has  known  the  mystic  elevation, 
And  twilight  burns  pale  tapers  in  the  sky. 

* 
It  is  not  far,  but  in  each  touch  of  wonder 

That  clothes  the  landscape  in  a  filmy  veil, 
And  in  the  winds  and  the  deep  voice  of  thunder, 
And  on  the  music  of  a  summer  gale. 

Yet  in  the  darkness  of  the  silent  places 

Is  the  one  door  that  guards  the  sacred  shrine,  — 

Around  the  portal  are  the  angel  faces, 
Within,  the  everlasting  Bread  and  Wine. 


22 


EMBER-GLOW 

TO  ROY  ROLFE  GILSON 

A    SILVERED  sky  swept  by  the  misting  rain, 
•4^*-     A  maze  of  tree-tops  tossing  to  and  fro ; 

But  here  within,  the  fading  ember-glow 
Streaking  the  shadows  with  a  golden  stain. 

Outside  the  storm,  but  here  where  discords  cease 
In  warmth  and  silence  and  the  fire-light's  spell : 
A  sheltered  space  for  simple  faith  to  dwell, — 

A  little  haven  of  eternal  peace. 


23 


THE  SILENCES 

I 

in  the  stress  of  noon's  unshadowed  tide 
But  where  the  dusk  is  vague  with  memory, 
Down  lonely  lanes  where  dreams  mayhap  abide 
Or  far  adrift  on  some  unfathomed  sea. 

There  for  the  moment,  we  who  knew  the  flame 
Of  one  sad  day  beside  life's  heedless  stream 

May,  through  the  stillness,  almost  hear  the  same 
Soft  falling  waters  on  the  shores  of  dream. 


24 


II 


T"\ID  we  but  always  know  that  this  were  best : 
-*^     These  silent  trees  that  guard  the  sunset's  rim, 
These  old  gray  hills  that  once  meant  only  rest 
Nor  wavered  when  our  memory  grew  dim. 

Yet  now  no  loveliness  may  speed  in  vain, 
No  waste  of  dawn  in  youth's  fast  fading  year, 

Sweet  with  the  tenderness  of  twilight  rain 
And  wistful  with  the  songs  we  did  not  hear. 

/• 


25 


LILAC-TIME 
III 

CO  still  the  lilacs  hang,  so  ghostly  white 
^     In  the  soft  washes  of  the  cloud-swept  moon, 
And  all  the  grass  is  gray  with  silver  light 
For  Spring  to  say  her  last  farewell  to  June. 

Roses  will  riot  now  where  all  is  gray, 

And  in  the  grasses  boom  the  summer  bees  .  .  . 
But  I  shall  only  see  the  lilacs  sway 

And  seek  their  fragrance  'neath  my  empty  trees. 


26 


THE  WAYS  OF  SPRING 

IV 

f^HESE  paths  are  sweet  with  thought  of  April's  green, 
•*•        For  time  may  never  sweep  life's  drift  away : 
Each  rain-blown  leaf  holds  much  of  yesterday, 
Each  tree  a  testament  to  Spring  unseen. 

Lanes  still  the  same  in  April-tide  or  now, 

White  with  soft  bloom  or  golden  or  stript  bare, 
Spring  ever  came  to  make  their  branches  fair 

Nor  marked  the  shadow  of  an  empty  bough. 


27 


EBB-TIDE 


f^HE  far  soft  reaches  of  the  purple  hills, 
-*-       The  flame  of  gold  and  red,  the  haze  swept  sky, 
The  hush  of  simple  hours  the  silence  fills,  — 
These  sad  and  lovely  things  as  shore-drift  lie. 

Sweet  wreckage  of  a  swiftly  ebbing  year, 

Hidden  in  flood-depths  and  undreamed  before, 

Yet  now  left  lying  and  unladen  here, — 

Sea-drift  and  star-drift  on  a  wind-washed  shore. 


28 


STILL-WATERS 
VI 

X  T  7HILE  peace  withholds  the  sands  of  waning  day, 

And  ere  the  sunlight  into  dusk  has  grown, 
Here  may  I  too  forget  and  steal  away 

By  paths  untrodden  and  on  shores  unknown. 

And  mid  the  shadows,  in  some  wood  of  dream, 
Drink  from  that  cup  untouched  by  joy  or  tears, 

Cool  with  the  waters  of  a  twilit  stream 

Whose  well-springs  are  the  calm  of  all  the  years. 


29 


THE  MOORS 

A  LL  day  the  rain, 
•*  ^     Gray  on  the  misted  hills 
And  on  the  poplar  leaves,  a  silver  veil 
Torn  in  the  wind  ;  always  the  rustling  sigh 
Of  leaves  and  wind  that  fills 
The  silence  with  a  strain 
Of  lonely  music ;  while  the  hours  go  by 
Unheeded,  and  the  light  grows  pale. 

Strange  quietness, — 

Mayhap  the  symbol  of  a  greater  peace. 

How  little  now  the  stress 

Of  yesterday ; 

Even  the  wished-for  things,  how  far  away ! 

Rest  and  undreamed  release. 


30 


THE  ROAD 

THE  long,  long  lane, 
The  straight  and  narrow  road, 
And  these  gray  walls  that  never  end.  — 
And  yet  a  bird  may  sing  and  branches  bend 
In  the  soft  hush  of  rain. 

Gray  walls  and  low-blown  dust, 

Yet  overhead  each  Spring  white  boughs  in  bloom. 

Heart,  heart  we  must 

Look  skyward  for  the  end  is  not  in  vain ;  — 

Now  empty  gloom, 

But  then,  mayhap,  wide  pastures  after  rain. 

And  even  now 

Along  this  lonely  road 

A  bird  calls  bravely  from  a  wind-swept  bough. 


31 


CANDLE-LIGHT 

A  S  in  old  days  of  mellow  candle-light, 

•*  ^     A  little  flame  of  gold  beside  the  pane 
Where  icy  branches  blowing  in  the  rain 

Seem  spectre  fingers  of  a  ghostly  night; 

Yet  on  the  hearth  the  fire  is  warm  and  bright, 
The  homely  kettle  steams  a  soft  refrain, 
And  to  one's  mind  old  things  rush  back  again, 

Sweet  tender  things  still  young  in  death's  despite. 

So,  when  the  winter  blasts  across  life's  sea 
Do  beat  about  my  door  and  shake  the  walls 
Until  the  house  must  sink  upon  the  sand, 
Then  on  some  magic  wind  of  memory, 

Borne  swiftly  to  my  heart  a  whisper  falls,  — 
And  on  my  arm  the  pressure  of  your  hand  ! 


32 


FORGOTTEN 

A  LL  day  the  branches  are  so  softly  stirred, 
-*  ^     And  ever  comes  a  song  the  wind  has  made, 

The  sunlight  mingles  with  the  drowsy  shade, 
Deep  in  the  wood  a  lonely  thrush  is  heard. 

Quiet  and  peace  across  the  sleeping  vale 

That  was  forgot  so  many  years  ago; 

Now  through  the  pathways  tall  rank  grasses  grow, 
Tossing  unhindered  in  the  gentle  gale. 

For  they  who  used  to  walk  these  lovely  ways 
Long  since  departed  nor  will  come  again  — 
Never  a  footstep  in  the  scented  lane 

That  once  had  known  such  happy  yesterdays. 

And  where  the  path  was  then  so  red  with  bloom 
Only  the  creeping  brier  its  tangle  shows ; 
Save  in  the  last  still  watches,  one  lone  rose 

Sends  through  the  ghostly  dusk  a  faint  perfume. 

And  they  who  rest  and  long  have  found  surcease 
Upon  the  little  hill  girt  round  with  trees, 
Are  silent  through  the  seasons'  mysteries, 

Deep  in  the  slumber  of  their  simple  peace. 

33 


Dear  lonely  place,  you  mean  so  much  to  me 
For  I  have  known  as  you  the  joy  of  Spring, 
And  somehow  in  your  sweet  remembering 

You  touch  the  very  soul  of  memory. 


34 


WIDE  PASTURES 

TS  there  no  way  to  reach  beyond  that  wall, 

-*•    No  voice  to  stir  you  from  such  slumbers  deep  ? 

Must  always  silence  answer  to  a  call 

That  now  would  wake  you  out  of  endless  sleep  ? 

Here  lie  wide  pastures  swept  by  wind  and  rain 
Where  ever  you  may  walk  unbound  and  free, 

Here  loveliness  knows  neither  age  nor  stain, 
And  words  are  sweet  in  their  virginity. 

Youth  is  so  short,  and  only  now  the  way 

Lies  wide  before  you  through  the  sunlit  land, 

There  is  no  path  that  leads  to  yesterday  — 
And  if  to-morrow  you  should  understand. 

Is  there  no  way  to  reach  beyond  that  wall, 
Nor  any  voice  to  waken  you  from  sleep  ? 


35 


AT  THE  ROAD'S  END 

"^HERE  comes  no  fear  of  that  dim  silent  night 
•••        When  I  shall  sleep  beyond  the  call  of  day, 
When  all  shall  cease  and  softly  slip  away 
With  the  dark  curtain  drawn  across  my  sight ; 
For  in  the  instant  I  shall  know  aright 
And  that  which  was  and  is  at  last  survey, 
Clear  as  a  crystal  of  the  wide  sea  spray 
And  swept  of  clouds  in  one  vast  burning  light. 

No  fear,  and  yet  my  heart  was  wont  to  care 
For  Spring  and  Summer  and  the  maze  of  Fall, 

And  every  wind  that  waveringly  blew ; 
And  though  no  doubt  will  come  when  I  shall  fare, 
'T  were  hard  to  leave  so  much  that  held  me  thrall,  - 
And  oh,  the  loneliness  apart  from  you  ! 


SAPPHICS 


TO 
CLINTON  SCOLLARD 


OT 


HOI 


OING  the  song  of  youth  in  its  golden  season, 

k-'      Youth,  glad  youth,  more  dear  than  the  ages'  treasure  ! 

Still  as  then  across  the  far  fields  of  twilight 

Your  voice  is  singing. 

Hushed  with  wonder  e'en  as  the  low  sky's  flaming, 
Hushed  in  longing,  fraught  as  the  winds  of  twilight : 
Youth,  dear  youth,  so  ever  your  sweet  voice  singing, 
One  with  the  wind's  song. 

What  are  years  that  go  as  a  moment's  fleeting, 
Tears  forgot  and  lost  in  the  dust  of  silence ; 
Still  as  then  across  the  far  fields  of  Lesbos 
Your  voice  at  even  ! 


TO  A  GREEK  STATUE 

H  ROUGH  the  years  you  stand  always  gravely 

smiling, 

Warmth  of  earth  yet  snow  of  a  drif  tless  beauty : 
Youth  and  joy  forever  as  one  brief  moment, 
Waiting  in  silence. 


And  for  us,  the  moment  you  stopped  to  listen, 
Rapt  before  a  Voice  that  should  tell  you  all  things ; 
So  for  us,  an  image  of  life  unbroken, 
Youth  made  immortal ! 


43 


ONLY 

PRING  will  come  and  go  in  a  maze  of  wonder, 

Skies  unfurled  again  to  the  lilac  weather, 
Burdened  branches  and  always  a  light  wind  blowing 
Just  as  it  used  to. 

Only  you,  the  secret  to  me  of  Springtime, 
All  its  sweetness,  all  of  its  poignant  beauty  .  .  . 
Only  you  may  never  come  back,  and  only 
I  shall  remember. 


44 


AT  THE  WINDS'  CALL 

F^HERE  are  winds  that  surge  as  the  wash  of  waters, 
-*•        Strong  and  full  and  deep  as  a  storm  at  flood-time, 
Winds  that  call  until  in  my  soul's  far  reaches 
Wakens  an  answer : 

Wild  as  winds  or  ever  the  waste  sea's  longing, 
Wild  and  lonely,  stirred  from  the  depths  of  hunger. 
Lonely  winds,  more  vast  are  the  empty  spaces 
Deep  in  my  being. 

When,  at  last,  shall  come  the  long-wearied  silence  — 
Peace,  gray  peace,  or  merely  the  end  of  dreaming; 
Yet  the  winds  have  called,  and  my  heart's  old  longing 
Cries  through  the  darkness ! 


45 


TO  A  HILL-TOWN 

f^HIS  to  you  across  the  swift  years  that  gather, 
-*•       This  to  give  for  ways  that  were  filled  with  gladness, 
Ways  hill-girt  and  under  the  Spring's  first  sunrise  — 
Paths  that  were  golden. 

Here  they  lie  in  memory's  early  keeping, 
Wind-swept  hills  dim-misted  with  purple  vapor  — 
One  lone  hill  and  three  lonely  pine-trees  tossing 
Black  on  the  sky-line. 

For  these  most  —  yet  dusk  on  the  lake's  still  edges, 
Dusk  and  moonlight  sweeping  a  wash  of  silver, 
Chime  of  bells  and  softly  an  organ's  throbbing  .  .  . 
Music  and  moonlight. 

And  for  them,  long  gone  from  the  hills  of  morning, 
Song  and  laughter,  voices  that  faintly  echo  .  .  . 
All  to  you,  who  made  as  a  dream  of  beauty 
Youth's  little  Springtime ! 


46 


ELEGY 

HERE  shall  rest  unmoved  through  the  waning  seasons 
One  who  knew  and  dreamed,  and  forgot  in  dreaming ; 
Now  alone  the  trees,  who  remembered  always, 
Are  his  companions. 

They  to  whom  he  came  for  their  silent  healing, 
They  who  ever  gave  of  their  ancient  patience ; 
Now  alone  with  them  and  the  night-wind's  crooning 
Leave  him  forgotten. 


47 


THE  GIFTS  OF  PEACE 

A  LL  day  long  the  wind  in  the  bending  branches 
•*  ^     Softly  croons  a  chant  for  the  silent  sleepers, 
Through  the  hours  the  birds  in  unceasing  rapture 
Echo  the  wind-song. 

Tossing  branches  caught  by  the  spars  of  sun-glow, 
Framing  bits  of  blue  with  their  leafy  meshes, 
And  upon  the  winds  from  the  pine-tree's  censer 
Attars  unloosened. 

Far  away  the  valley  lies  in  a  day-dream, 

Warm  and  golden,  swept  by  the  clouds'  swift  shadows, 

While  the  grasses  like  distant  ocean  billows 

Drift  in  the  sunshine. 

Here  is  peace  and  loveliness  ever  mingled  : 
Organ  music  of  winds  and  birds  and  branches, 
And  a  brooding  Presence  that  makes  each  moment 
A  benediction. 


48 


r 


F  at  the  end  you  still  should  stand  in  Spring 

With  perfect  youth  above  the  surging  years, 
Still  in  your  eyes  unfaded  wondering, 

Still  in  your  heart  the  essence  of  all  tears ; 

Then  might  it  seem  that  life  had  stripped  away 
From  its  hid  semblance  the  last  fleeting  veil, 

And  I  should  know  the  dream  of  youth's  decay 
As  one  who  looks  upon  the  Holy  Grail. 


TWO  HUNDRED  AND  SEVENTY-FIVE 
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THE  TYPE  DISTRIBUTED  IN  THE 
MONTH  OF  APRIL  MDCCCCXV 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST 

--- 


STAMPED  BELOW 
AN     INITIAL    F^ToF 


DATE 

«»*«H 


OVERDUE. 

OCT20  1933 


DAY 


YB  76828 


312544 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


